


Genetic

by TwinKats



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But tell me what you think anyway, F/M, Gen, I had to do it, M/M, Unfinished, crossover idea mostly, deus ex swallowed me whole, dub con just kinda became a thing, fandom merge, fucking sleek as shit arms and legs, god why are they so pretty, of a sort, potentially to be continued, some sexual situations, the world is fucked up and broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: The world is a shitheap, and sometimes it doesn't stop raining its crap down on the poor masses. In this case Adam isn't quite sure what to do--he asked Sarif for help once, and now amidst the mess and muck and crap that is his life, Sarif finally delivers. Perfect fucking timing as always, David, god damn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t think of a title, and this random ass idea popped into my head because Mankind Divided was free on the PSN this month so I decided: why the fuck not? And oh dammit all I’m stuck in in this shit, now, thanks. I have a thing and Deus Ex apparently hits on that thing with a thousand percent. So I’ve been devouring what I could—and I need to remember to go and comment on some stuff I found that is absolutely divine; apparently this little niche fandom is just—unf.
> 
> ANYWAY. I don’t know if I’ll ever really write more to this or not; it was kind of an idea and *shrugs* if people like it, maybe? But my focus is on the **Don’t Write Me A Postscript** series and I’ve been a little out of the loop for crossover stories but—well, there were barely any Harry Potter ones, and that’s my staple so…I figured why not?
> 
> There is hints of Jensif here, because that was a thing, because goddamit I don’t know why I like the idea of the pairing. Megan and Adam was a hot mess that neither is still over, really, and they need to get that dealt with. Pritchard and Adam are…it’s a weird relationship I’m running with. Their kind of a mix of siblings to Sarif’s ‘daddy’ but also not? And they both apparently now having a thing for Sarif fucking muses. So IDK. Shits happened.
> 
> Sarif came off as a creep but he’s not, honest. He just…he’s really eccentric. Creepy in some ways and secrets and dealing with his own hot mess, but eccentric. Not…predator creepy. Just weird eccentric man in his fifties creepy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Panchaea the world is never the same, but some people still are. After London, it's even more apparent.

Adam could see the end of their relationship long before it reached the point of no return. As much as he’d like to blame it on any one thing—on Megan, on the Mexicantown Massacre, on David Sarif, on his drinking or his smoking, on Kubrick even—there wasn’t _just one_ thing. Instead there were many, little, small pieces that added and added over time into a large heaping pile of _shit_. Maybe some part of Adam recognized the fact that Megan used him—used his DNA, his forgotten history, his trust, his ignorance—or maybe some part of him never could accept how much Megan loved science and her job—and how little she really loved him.

Mechanical, augmented fingers tightened imperceptibly, but enough, that the glass cracked. Adam hastily set it down onto the coffee table before he shattered _another_ household item in the mixture of grief and rage that wanted to swallow him whole. By that point, oh so long ago it felt now, Adam had known Megan for ten whole years. He thought he knew her well enough—he thought he _knew_ her. He hadn’t told anyone, before, but he’d even spent a portion of his new, shiny salary under David Sarif to get her a ring. He’d intended—

—it didn’t matter anymore; what Adam intended, what Megan intended—none of it mattered anymore. Two years after the bullshit blew up in all of their faces, after Darrow and the kidnapping and the _lies_ —none of it really mattered anymore, did it? Adam ran his fingers over his face and leaned into the couch with a tired sigh. Two years after it all blew up, three after that integral fight that saw Adam with packed bags on the curb, _homeless_ , _infuriated, **betrayed**._ Almost twelve years, now, since he met her in that little coffee shop hours before he joined DPD’s SWAT team, hours before the job he’d worked so _hard_ to get landed in his lap.

 _Twelve years_ …it really seemed like a lifetime ago, didn’t it? Twelve years was when it all started—Adam could definitely say twelve years was when his life began to hit the shitter and hit it hard. Not at first, and Megan wasn’t _necessarily_ the catalyst there, but it all began to hit home at roughly the same time didn’t it? Now here he was, twelve years _later_ , and finally he had more answers than questions and _finally_ —

Adam looked toward the television, toward the information that had been forwarded to his infolink—and then that he streamed remotely onto the screen because having it all in his _head_ , or on the _computer_ , didn’t do it justice enough. This was large— _large_ and it deserved to be framed in a way he hadn’t let himself— _dared_ to let himself—Adam sighed explosively.

Twelve years, near to the _day_ , he thought bitterly. Almost four years since he’d—and yeah, _now_ , as the world was going to _shit_ , as the world _was shit_ really— _now_ it all came home to roost. After everything now David had—and Pritchard, too, probably with his smug smile as he ripped into the servers and finances and— _now_ it just hit him. _Why now?_

Sarif didn’t have to tell him; what even was the point? At this juncture Adam had so much—Miller and Manderley and MacReady and Alex and the Collective— _Janus_ —and Sarif just sends him all of—all _this?_ _Now?_ After Prague and ARC and all the shit Adam just— _just_ —finished handling Sarif lands this in his lap. _This_. What was it? _What was it, David?_ Some sort of sick penitence to give him this now? Some—ploy to get him to come back to—Adam had to force himself to breathe because as much as all that happened in Detroit and what led to the Aug Incident held, as much as what Sarif fucked him over with, as much as he’d felt betrayed by the man after everything—and after Megan, after what _she_ did—Adam doubted there was anything truly leading Sarif behind actually enacting what he’d thought had been one of Adam’s last wishes.

It had been two years of silence and unfinished business between the two because Adam didn’t want to face up and own up to the man he’d—admired, trusted, _adored_ in some respects—aside from the few short conferences between them that focused on his Augs and the shitstorm in Alaska and the pieces of his memory he still didn’t have. Aside from platitudes and arguments that burned sick on the back of his tongue—and now _this_. David had to have known what he’d—he _had to have_. Adam breathed through his nose and bowed over the edge of the couch.

Maybe it was long overdue, in the end, a face to face between them. There were things Adam needed to say that a conference call wouldn’t quite allow him to, and there were things David needed to say back. Adam knew that; and then—well Adam was coming to terms with the fact that as much as he was a machine these days, he was human too and despite his Augs, despite everything—didn’t he deserve the chance at what he’d lost? Even if it were minor and small in the grand scheme of things—and hopefully Miller and MacReady wouldn’t look at him and—others did it, anyway. Couldn’t he, too? Couldn’t he—Adam scrubbed his hand through his hair.

He needed to stop dithering on it, Adam grimaced. It was long overdue that he face this—face this part of his past, this part of—everything. He couldn’t put it off, and now that he was out of Prague and _that_ mess—not out of the entire mess, of course, because the Illuminati were still out there and there was still Janus to contend with, and _of course_ he was an Aug, these days, and that was synonymous with _monster_ to some people, and yeah TF29 still was working out of Prague too so he was still stuck in the city even if he didn’t want to be. Second class citizens, mechanical humans—the legislation and segregation still nipped at his heels, especially here and being what he _was_ , well, Adam could never quite escape it. That was _fine_. His bed had been made and he’d handle it, like everything else. Still there was a lull and _that_ —that meant everything didn’t it? It was time, Adam admitted. It was time and—and he should honestly deal with this now. He _needed_ to. If anyone ever—Adam didn’t doubt that David and Pritchard would—but he couldn’t trust Megan, and he couldn’t deny the risks involved with the Collective, or Miller’s bosses, but—well, life wasn’t worth living without risk, was it?

With little thought Adam pulled on Miller’s contact information, synced his infolink to build a connection. He didn’t bother to fully wait for it to snap into place—Miller could be in a meeting for all he knew, but he could start the groundwork for a message.

“Miller?” Adam said, and he knew he sounded like _shit_ because he felt like _shit_. Having a breakdown as thorough as he’d just gotten through did that to anyone. “I…need to take some personal time.” Adam chewed on his lip. “It won’t affect my work, you have my word, but it’s—private. Personal.” Adam huffed a sigh. “Just…if you could get me the clearance for some time off I’d appreciate it. Shouldn’t take long anyway.” Adam eyed the television screen, and then cut the connection. If Miller wanted more he could contact him, or pull him into the office and they could talk—but Adam would prefer to keep this close to the vest. All anyone _really_ needed to know was that he needed to clear the air about some shit with some people from before Interpol, things he’d been putting off.

God wouldn’t Delara like to hear _that_ ; Adam, finally dealing with some of the shit he’s closed off from the world. Adam snorted and shook his head with a bitter sigh. Oh, well, what did it matter. He needed to pack; he had another trip to London, it looked like. Hopefully this one would be less life threatening.

* * *

 

Harry kicked his feet as he swung back and forth, twisted onto the seat of the Surrey Park swings just enough to actually grasp at the chain, legs crossed around it even as he listed side to side. Another year of crazy adventures at school, another year of pretending he was _normal_ and that the insane bullshit he got dragged into was _normal._ Another year he spent worrying his lip over it all, worrying if this would be the year the others _find out_. What would the Wizarding World think of their boy-savior if they really knew? He barely got himself out of getting checked out by Madam Pomfrey this year, after the Chamber and rescuing Ginny.

His arm sparked with pain and Harry grit his teeth. He resolutely didn’t look toward the twisted, molten hole he’d received from the Basilisk fang. The Dursley’s wouldn’t bother to help him, Harry knew that much. He got lucky when he was eight—Harry doubted he’d be so lucky a second time. Harry was just thankful that Dudley’s cast-offs hid the worst of it, and no one in Surrey would even spare him a glance. They didn’t like him well enough _before_ , and now? After his first year, after coming home to learn about the things he missed, being at Hogwarts—the prejudices that now burned sick in people, how neighbors stared at him like he was going to—no one cared.

It was sheer luck that the Dursley’s weren’t forced to get rid of him, Harry felt. Given peer pressure and the way the world was they had every right to kick him to the curb. They had every _reason_ to, in fact, and yet somehow Harry remained at their tender care and mercies. Harry remained—and it left him confused and wary. The Dursley’s weren’t pleased with it, Harry knew. Neither were the neighbors. Freaks like _him_ —they ruined a perfectly good neighborhood. About the only tick in his favor was that he kept to himself, and kept himself hidden. The lot of Surrey could pretend Harry didn’t exist, that way, and Harry at least preferred non-existence to the stares and the distrust.

It was funny how people’s opinions changed so easily. At first, when Harry was eight and he’d gotten lucky—and he’d gotten this _gift_ —the people of Surrey saw him as something _better_. They saw him almost like a gift—and it burned the Dursley’s fierce to get complimented over their treatment of him; to be acted like they _chose_ to let Harry get—and then, after Hogwarts, after everything that happened almost two years ago now, here Harry sat the bane of Surrey’s existence. Now he was the criminal that Surrey didn’t believe the Dursley’s painted picture of; now everything made sense. Harry bit his lip and tired to focus on just the swing, on the air flowing through his hair, and not on the twinge and spark that came from his bicep.

Harry sighed tiredly and leaned his head against the chain. He let the swing sweat rock him back and forth, back and forth, and let the feel of the metal chain—warmed from the summer heat, but not unbearable yet—dig into his flesh. Harry closed his eyes and lost himself into the motion. He’d long learned to ignore Surrey around him and just bask in the small things like rocking on a swing, the air against his skin, or even the touch of the metal chain.

People where beneath his notice; Harry didn’t observe the people of Surrey any more than they liked to admit to his own existence. Not since his first year at Hogwarts, not since the summer _after_ , and because of this Harry didn’t see the stranger settle down beside him in the second swing. He didn’t even really notice the way the chains rattled or the groan of leather under a weight far more than a child.

“You know,” the stranger spoke up, and Harry jerked around in surprise to being addressed— _no one_ in Surrey liked to address him, “that arm of yours—it’s, ah, very nicely made.” His shoulder _protested_ the sudden movement, the way it ground the innerworkings together, but Harry focused on the stranger who stared down at him with a faint smile that’s edges curled with something Harry couldn’t name. The stranger looked specifically at his injured arm, peered at his hand with curiosity, and after half-a-second Harry could see the bright golden fingers that weren’t flesh and blood fiddle against the hem of a suit-jacket, almost a little— _nervous?_

Harry blinked, stared at the fingers—and the stranger chuckled.

“I know, I know,” he said and rolled his wrists as he did so, catching Harry’s attention again so that the teen jerked his head back up to stare at the greying face as the stranger eyed his own hands. “The gold makes them a little gaudy, I’ve been told. I have to say though I’ve always had a fondness for pretty things, why not make my hands among that number?”

Harry grimaced; a part of him _screamed_ ‘stranger danger’ with the flow of pretty words and suave smile. Did this guy even realize how he sounded—and to a teenager?

“Although,” the stranger continued into Harry’s silence, unperturbed by it, “as nice as the craftsmanship is, I can hear it whine from over here.” Harry jerked and cradled his arm away from the stranger, eyes wide. “I take it you injured it, then?” the stranger murmured with a sigh. “You know, son, it’s dangerous to let that damage go untreated.” The stranger bent over his knees and placed his elbows onto his thighs. “Your parents might be upset you damaged it, but I bet they’d be even more upset you didn’t tell them, right?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked away. The Dursley’s would be pissed either way—what did this stranger know? For a moment Harry gnawed on his lip; he could he the man sigh in his not-response. He could hear the man shift back and shove his hands into pockets, but Harry sat there and _thought_. He couldn’t get help for the arm, he’d be fine on his own thank you. It wasn’t like he really had parents there anyway. Sure the Dursley’s would be pissed it was damaged, but they’d be more pissed if Harry brought it to their attention.

“Come on, kid,” the stranger said softly. “You have to know how dangerous it is to leave your arm like that.”

Harry curled in on himself. He knew—yeah, he definitely knew, but did he really have a choice? He kept his head ducked low and mumbled, “No one cares, anyway,” mostly to himself.

“No one—” the stranger seemed to sputter for a moment, surprised. “Now that just can’t be true,” he said. “After all your parents got you that arm, didn’t they?” Harry curled in further, and for a second the stranger seemed to stare and then—deflate. “Ah. They didn’t.” Cautiously Harry nodded his head and the older man sighed explosively. When at first he didn’t say anything, Harry raised his head to peer back up at the stranger from beneath his fringe.

The stranger was staring at him, lips curled into a frown and face twisted with some emotion Harry rarely put together in regards to himself—concern, it looked like? His brow was furrowed and his fingers toyed with the expensive hem to his jacket and his sleeves almost absentmindedly. Harry wasn’t sure what to say—people just didn’t come and speak to him, and Augs—one so expensively dressed and expensively maintained? They just didn’t _come_ to Surrey anymore. Not since the Incident where neighbors died in screaming bloodshed. The little sleepy neighborhood still hadn’t quite recovered.

Still Harry watched, curious, as the older man got up and then down on his knees. Green eyes furrowed down because Harry could tell—that was an expensive suit, now dirtied by the pit of sand and dirt and wood chips that pressed into knees. Carefully augmented hands held out, and Harry’s eyes snapped right over to them. He stared at the black and gold that wrapped around like leather gloves, only sleeker and shinier and far more expensive. Harry tilted his eyes back up to the stranger, curious.

“Can I…?” he asked, and reached for Harry’s arm. Harry didn’t stop him, although he stared and stared and that was probably the wrong thing to do because this was a man with money. He was Harry, orphan boy-savior with an augmented and broken arm, stuck in an unloving household. Freak of the highest order. Still the stranger reached out and gently tugged at the sleeve of Dudley’s cast-offs to get a good look at the arm made of metal and painted like flesh.

A part of Harry should probably have been more weirded out, more _concerned_ that some rich stranger Aug off the street wanted to look at his damaged arm, paid such attention to him, but Harry found himself far more confused by the entire mess over concerned. Things like this just didn’t _happen_ to Harry, unless it had something to do with the magical world. Even then it was more people falling over themselves, not this— _whatever_ this was.

Gently Harry watched as those golden, gilded hands articulated his fingers, and then rotated his wrist. He listened to the strange hum and tsk to himself in thought, and then gently pushed up his sleeve until he caught the sparking edge of the melted wound on Harry’s bicep. For all of a second the stranger stared, and then let the shirt fall down and carefully smoothed it over the damage and gave Harry a worriedly strained smile.

Harry thought he heard the man hiss, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” under his breath as he got to his feeth and brushed off his knees. He pulled Harry off of the swing and carefully brushed dirt off of Harry’s shirt, and then smoothed down his birds nest of hair.

“Alright, kiddo,” the man said, and he gave Harry a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That is some…pretty significant damage. It has to hurt, right?” Cautiously Harry nodded. “Well, how about a deal. Since your…family probably doesn’t know, how about I get that fixed up for you?”

Harry frowned. “Why…?”

The stranger sighed and dropped back down to Harry’s level. He actually sat in the dirt and shook his head. “Truthfully, kid? You remind me of someone I care a great deal about,” he said. “Now Adam, he’s a work of art these days. Always was, honestly, but he has this whole deal where he doesn’t bother to get things taken care of until—well.” The stranger gave a wry smile. “The amount of times I needed to make sure he patched up right? Far too many. And you—!” He gestured up and down Harry. “You’re young—a kid! Wounds like that—they can have lasting effects. I don’t know about you but—nerve damage?” The stranger tsked and shook his head. “I don’t want to even _think_ about what this is doing to the rest of your system, son. So…what do you say?”

“But…why?” Harry questioned. “I’m just…nobody.”

“Kid, son,” he sighed heavily. “You’re not ‘nobody,’ you see?” Gently, enough to not jostle or damage Harry’s arm further, he patted the prosthetic hand. “This is a Sarif model, right?” Carefully Harry nodded. “Which means…hm, London bombing? Four, five years ago? How old are you, son?”

Harry chewed on his lip. “Twelve,” he said.

“You were…eight? Nine?” he prompted softly.

“Eight,” Harry said with a whisper.

He nodded, slowly, and gave Harry a small smile. This one did reach his eyes. “Did you know, son, that there were only three eight-year olds who got a Sarif model arm prosthesis in the wake of the London bombing?” a second, Harry shook his head. “Two of them were donated,” he continued calmly. “Only one required a full shoulder down model and requested a custom flesh-toned job. Sarif models tend to come in black, white, or gold primarily, you know? Flesh tone is…interesting. Memorable.” Harry bit his lip and glanced down at his hand, and then over to the strangers. “I know my own work, son,” he said softly to the teen. “Let me fix it up for you, hm?”

After a second Harry raised his head to look at—and it took a second before it hit home. He _knew_ the stranger looked familiar, except—he hid his hands. Before he kept the Aug out on display, now it was so subtle and—Harry chewed on his lip.

“Mr. Sarif?” he asked, almost hesitant.

“Hello there, son,” David Sarif smiled and lightly poked Harry on the forehead. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled. “I…” He frowned. “Why are you…um, here?”

“I was in the area for business,” Sarif said, and climbed to his feet, “when I saw an adorable little boy sitting all lone on the swings, with a gorgeous arm.” Gently he led Harry from the playground and toward the car that had been idling on the side of the road.

“Did you—” Harry started, and then paused and cut himself off.

“No,” Sarif told him softly. “Not until I got a good look at that arm of yours. What happened to it, son?” Harry ducked his head, embarrassed, and Sarif chuckled. “Ah, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course—but you will let me take a look at it? Get it fixed up for you?”

Harry glanced at Sarif, curious and a little worried. He whispered, “Please?” because honestly it _hurt_ and he’d worried about what he’d do with the arm ever since he hurt it. He didn’t _want_ to lose his friends because he happened to be an even bigger freak than they ever knew. A part of him just _knew_ if they ever found out, about his arm—he’d be treated like a pariah worse. It had taken work to hide it this far from them, and now damaged? That was practically impossible.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Sarif said lightly, with little fanfare, settled Harry into the car.

* * *

 

_“So what’s the deal about this personal time?”_

Adam breathed through his nose and closed his eyes while he felt the airline rumble from the seat.

_“No, no, I’m not saying—look, you’ve definitely earned some vacation time, Jensen, I’m not saying that you haven’t. It’s just…you’re known for going off the reservation. I want to make sure this isn’t some personalized vendetta.”_

He hadn’t taken a commercial airline in years; not since Sarif Industries and the start of his constant VTOL flights from Malik, which later turned into VTOL flights with TF29—no, Adam hadn’t been on a commercial flight in years. He couldn’t say he’d missed them.

_“It’s not.”_

_“Reassure me.”_

The cramped space was problem enough for a man with a towering height of six-one. Add in fairly immobile limbs that hid weapons of mass destruction, and the current flavor of distaste for Augs, made the entire space feel even _more_ cramped.

_“Sarif contacted me several months back. There’s some paperwork mess to handle with the folding of SI assets into Tai Yong Medical.”_

_“Paperwork can be handled remotely. That doesn’t tell me why you’re planning a trip to London, now.”_

Of course Adam _could_ have taken up first class; Sarif all but offered to buy him the best ticket he could get. Still the look—not just from the airline and her crew, but from fellow passengers—left a lot to be desired. It was better to just hide himself in the back, cover his augs with gloves and clothes, and maybe stick a decent hat over his head or a pair of _normal_ shades and not his eye-shields.

_“You’re right. It’s not just paperwork. It’s **personal** , Miller. Sarif and I—it’s complicated.”_

_“Uncomplicate it.”_

_“…I’d rather not.”_

Of course flying ‘incognito’ raised a lot of red flags for people as it was, given that his passport and all of his identification noted down what he was for anyone to see. Whenever Adam tried to be sensitive to humans—as if he wasn’t one, anymore—it always seemed to backfire in some way. He either came off as the terrifying ogre that civilians would run from in fear, or he came off as hiding something as a maybe-terrorist. Traveling like this took work that Adam hated these days. He’d been spoiled with VTOL flights.

_“He was your employer, surely that’s not too hard to uncomplicate?”_

_“…Sarif was more than that.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I thought that—”_

_“Things changed, Miller. I’m not here to talk about it.”_

In some ways taking a commercial flight was more attention grabbing for all that it wasn’t. Adam didn’t doubt that the Illuminati would be just as aware of his actions as they were among TF29, or even when he ran around as Sarif’s personal attack dog. Trying to hide his own movements from the ever-illusive group was near impossible—and Adam didn’t feel the _need_ to. It wasn’t like his heading out to handle personal business really would have garnered much interest, anyway. Not with Megan at VersaLife, and her research, or Brown among the Santau group—or even TF29’s movements and actions _against_ them; never mind the fact that they had to focus on swinging votes into their own favor to control any Aug on the streets. Then there was the Collective and Janus to consider, too—no, Adam guessed that _maybe_ they’d be a little to preoccupied to look at his day to day. He hoped. It wasn’t like he was that important aside from being a walking weapon, anyway.

_“Alright. I was going to approve it anyway. God knows you’ve earned it.”_

_“Mm. Thanks.”_

_“Just stay the fuck out of trouble, Jensen.”_

_“…no promises.”_

The biggest issue Adam felt was that his conversation with Miller gave away more things than Adam ever wanted to share. He might trust the bastard, but that didn’t mean he worried over how much Miller’s bosses ended up hearing from Miller about Adam—or how much got shared as local office gossip. There was still the mole to consider, and the fact that Manderley definitely held ties to the Illuminati, among other little niggling doubts. Yeah Adam found Miller to be an alright sort all things considered—a bit too easily led by the nose, but then who would _want_ to believe their boss could possibly be pulling the strings to fuck you over? Adam found himself in the unique disposition and mindset for just that, but he’d discovered others rarely felt the same.

Of course then Adam talked with Sarif himself about the arranged flight, how long it would take him—so on and so forth. Sarif said Pritchard would pick him up at Heathrow, and for a moment Adam _thought_ he’d heard a kid on the other end of the line, but Sarif carefully derailed those thoughts. Some of the things the man suggested left Adam on edge—his teeth _ached_ from a gnawing worry that wanted to crawl up his synthetically reinforced spine—but Adam couldn’t quite get the answers he’d wanted out of Sarif at the time before the plane took off.

Common courtesy dictated that Adam dropped the call and not contact Pritchard until they were landing, by which point it’d be hours later and that gnawing worry would turn into a full blown edged panic. Hopefully Sarif could quell his concerns. He’d hate to find himself falling back into the familiar pattern of grief and rage that had consumed his life for almost three years now. Not when he’d finally, _finally_ , started to pull himself back on track and feel just that bit more human again.

Despite this being his first commercial trip in some time Adam hadn’t packed a lot—rather he packed little enough that anyone might’ve mistaken him off on another job for TF29 if they didn’t know that Adam _regularly_ kept little on him. Having gone through the mess first from SWAT, to SI, then Panchaea, Adam long learned that little was more in the end. Settled above the seat in the overhead bin was all he needed—his laptop, some spare clothes, and a few basic toiletries. If he knew Sarif as well as he did Adam doubted he’d need any more than that, so when the plane finally settled down and Adam could disembark—although not without skeptical looks from not just the flight staff but also from the local agents on the ground at Heathrow—he did so with little trouble.

Adam tilted his head toward the grey, London sky and sighed heavily. He latched onto Pritchard’s contact with barely a thought and a tiredly murmured, “Pritchard.”

“Jensen,” Pritchard droned— _fuck_ if Adam hadn’t forgotten how much the other man’s voice both _annoyed_ and _relieved_ him. Either during the mess of getting out of the facility in Alaska, to Pritchard asking for his help to hack into Santaeu group in Prague on behalf of Sarif, Adam found himself missing and hating the familiar, nasally drawl. “I’m waiting outside.”

“You actually came to pick me up?” Adam drawled back, only the slightest bit of incredulity in his tone as he searched out for whatever car Pritchard seemed to be driving now.

“Yes, well, Sarif’s busy,” Pritchard grumbled, “and it’s not like I have anything _better_ to do apparently. Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, _Francis_ ,” Adam said, and he allowed the faint tint of amusement to run through him at Pritchard’s frustrated huff as he found the car. “Fancy ride.”

“Blame Sarif,” Pritchard grumbled, and the infolink connection snapped shut the minute Adam pulled open the door. “I’d much rather something more practical.”

“Really?” Adam arched an eyebrow and let his eye-shields pull away. He eyed Pritchard in a way that he hadn’t been able to when in Prague. Video communication only offered so much information, and Adam much preferred pulling his data on the people around him in _person._ He noted the elevated heart rate and the spike in Pritchard’s breathing with concern, but filed it away to be handled or talked about later.

“Yes, really,” Pritchard said as Adam pulled the door shut and set his suitcase down at his feet. “And buckle up, damn you. Weren’t you a cop?”

Adam huffed a laugh, but complied. There Pritchard was, always fussing about one thing or another, and god if it didn’t relax some sort of tension Adam didn’t even know he had. He leaned back into the chair and sighed, tiredly.

“Forgot how commercial flights sucked,” Adam mumbled.

“Oh boo, hoo,” Pritchard said back as he pulled the car into drive. “Welcome to reality, Jensen, not all of us get free VTOL flights whenever we please.”

Adam rolled his shoulders. “Wasn’t saying I like VTOL any better. Never had a taste for it until Sarif, really.”

“Yes and lucky you.”

“Doesn’t Malik fly you and Sarif around now? Since, you know, you still seem to be working cyber security for him?”

Pritchard narrowed his eyes. “He’s a client, Jensen. I told you this.”

“Mm, sure, a client.” Jensen’s lips curled into a pleased sort of smirk. “That you are still assisting.”

“Oh shut up.” The car turned off onto the freeway and into traffic. “Don’t be surprised if Sarif offers you a job,” Pritchard added.

“That what happened to you?”

“He’s getting _lonely_ ,” Pritchard grumbled.

Adam turned his head out toward the window and frowned. “I don’t need you getting into my personal life, Francis.”

“Who said anything about your personal life?” Pritchard snarked back. “Besides, I wouldn’t be too surprised if you found yourself considering it.”

“I have a job,” Adam pointed out tiredly.

“Yes, and wonderful job it is. Glad you’re done with that mess in Prague.”

“Still _in_ Prague.”

Pritchard twisted in his seat, surprised, and Adam arched an eyebrow. “What? I thought they would’ve pulled you out of that hell hole given their sentiments against Augmented.”

“Whole reason why I’m still there,” Adam shrugged. “Jobs the job.”

Pritchard frowned. He grumbled a, “You would be better off anywhere else,” and Adam appreciated the sentiment. He probably _would_ be better off, but Prague was where he was and working for TF29 meant taking steps toward Janus and the Illuminati, both. Steps that _needed_ to be taken.

“How is he?” Adam asked after they lapsed into silence. Pritchard switched lanes and picked up on the gas.

“Like I said,” Pritchard sighed. “Lonely.” He leaned back into the seat. “I try to do what I can, but…I’m no you, Jensen.”

Adam snorted. He mumbled, “Somehow I’m not surprised you got caught up in his charms.”

“Oh shut up,” Pritchard grumbled back, but Adam picked up the rise of heat toward Pritchard’s cheeks and chuckled to himself.

“What about the file he sent me?” Adam asked, and he kept his voice low, brows furrowed. “What can you—”

“I found the kid,” Pritchard said and immediately cut off anything Adam had to say. “Was going through old charitable donation shit Sarif got up to before you were hired, found a kid from the London bombing incident in 2025.”

Adam frowned and mumbled, “Shit that set off the riots in Detroit.”

Pritchard nodded. “Was given an arm to replace the one he’d all but lost in the bombing,” Pritchard said, and his voice grew a bit softer as he spoke. “Found the records in a mix of shit that hadn’t yet gotten over to Tai Yong Medical. Sarif had me pull it.”

“Neuropozyne?” Adam questioned.

“Never needed it,” Pritchard said. “No one thought a damn thing of it, at the time, but now….”

“After Megan’s research, the attack on Sarif Industries…” Adam sighed and closed his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You certain?”

Pritchard frowned, and said tiredly. “Yes, Jensen. It’s him. Paternity test matches.” He eyed Adam. “He’s definitely your kid.”

Adam leaned forward as best he could with the seatbelt and buried his face into his hands. He mumbled, “ _Fuck_ ,” because what else could he say? What else could he add to the mess that was already in front of him, already _there?_ Here he was, hunting down the Illuminati, working for TF29, smack in the middle of Aug terrorist plots and segregation—and now, _now_ was when Sarif finally makes good on that one promise. Now is when Sarif—when Pritchard—and _fuck_ Adam wasn’t equipped to deal with this. He was just now finding his footing, just now getting _used_ to everything and—and the gnawing worried fear ever since that night, the truth of the matter; that Megan—

 _God_ Adam hadn’t dared even hold his breath since the attack on SI, since his augmentation—since Panchaea. What was he supposed to do with a kid? Should he? His life wasn’t sunshine and happiness and there was a chance—a risk—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Adam hissed into the quiet, and it summed up everything nicely.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through about three ideas for this. One was Adam was actually Harry Potter because that’s my go to number one, this one though I settled with because I’m getting a little tired of the Harry = X Character From Other Series trope and decided to just fall in with the child one instead. Besides this seems like a rather interesting idea to run with, so why not?
> 
> There are some background shit I didn’t touch upon with this story because more that I dove right into Adam’s headset. The original point of plan was to dive in after his and Megan’s breakup, but apparently Adam had other plans and it turned out to be post Mankind Divided instead. I’m still devouring the media for this series right now so not all of my information is correct, I know. I technically haven’t beaten the game—hell I’m not sure how it ends yet to be honest, or if Janus is good or if Miller is secretly part of the Illuminati or what—but I have an idea of where and how it is leading toward things. I mean it’s not that hard to pull the plot from the threads, after all….
> 
> No, I haven’t played Human Revolution, either, although I plan to pick that up for PS3 when I have the funds. Only reason why I have Mankind Divided right now is the free for PSN Plus thing, and by god if I’m not in love with the story. I have no idea about the Deus Ex franchise as a whole aside from Adam Jensen’s story—what little I did know was to hear that “Human Revolution” was apparently really hard or something? I vaguely remember that being talked about when they released the Director’s Cut. I also remember thinking “oooh, fancy,” and wanting to get a copy, but not having the funds. So.
> 
> Maybe, some day, I’ll feel happy to actually just write the whole shit out—who knows? Now back to enjoying Black Light and getting pissy with the Breach while I work on the next bit of Don’t Write Me A Postscript and try not to tear my hair out while hiding from the cops in Prague because _apparently Prague went to shit while I was getting my ass handed to me; great job Adam fucking **perfect**._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything, Adam really did miss David Sarif.
> 
> This chapter raised the rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning because uh, sexual content happens. I swear I didn't plan that. Nothing explicitly written out, but it is very much dub-con. Which was not the intention, but that's how it happened.

Of fucking _course_ Sarif decided to stay in what accounted for one of the richest accommodations that Adam had come across since Detroit and that one apartment them man had _tried_ to foist onto him. Adam had been grateful he convinced his boss not to set him up into some ridiculous suite after he and Megan broke things off—but _this?_ Jesus he’d forgotten some of David’s tastes over the past year, apparently, because this was just ridiculous.

“Lifestyle of the rich and famous, huh,” Adam mumbled. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat as he followed after Pritchard into shining, chromatic glass of the front of the building. They had a completely separate car garage for residence vehicles across the street. Most places preferred to bundle car garages into the main building itself, but Adam had run into a few of the richer sides of things that _didn’t_. Typically a valet would take the car, from Adam’s experience, but Pritchard drove into the garage and then led him out without a word.

Adam eyed the man; he wondered if Pritchard was enjoying this—living rich instead of out of some sort of cardboard box. He didn’t doubt that Sarif kept the hacker close. Pritchard had said it himself as much in the car—Sarif was _lonely_. Was there ever a better way to ease that loneliness aside from keeping the people around him close? Adam ducked his head with a pensive frown, shades snapped right back into place over his eyes as they crossed into the building and toward the elevator. What did that mean for him? He wondered if Sarif intended to recruit him, too, now that the mess with ARC and Prague had finished for the most part. There were still the Illuminati, of course, but the majority of the dangers had passed into obscurity—

With a chuffed breath Adam followed Pritchard into the elevator and leaned his back against the wall. He eyed the other man from behind his shades.

“I can feel you thinking from over here,” Pritchard drawled. “ _Stop it_.” Adam shrugged and Pritchard sighed heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, almost put upon, “For Christ’s _sake_ , Jensen.” The elevator dinged and the doors slipped open before Pritchard could say anything more. Adam straightened up and prepared to follow Pritchard down a hallway lined with doors, and then froze instead when the elevator opened up to a room and not a hall.

“Huh,” Adam said, surprised, and took a hesitant step out of the elevator. “Bastard really went all out.”

Pritchard brushed past him, turned a corner, and Adam followed after. His shades slipped back with his surprise and eye eyed everything curiously. Adam opened his mouth to ask a question when he found that he stepped into a kitchen of all things, but by the Pritchard had walked right into his space and—

“ _Argh, fuck!_ ” Adam jerked and slammed his hand to his neck, wide eyed as he watched Pritchard take—it _looked_ like a hypostim but that didn’t _feel_ like a hypostim—and slotted the thing into a computer without a word. “What the _hell_ , Francis?!” Adam ground out. Pritchard ignored him, and Adam _seethed_ from it. Here he’d been thinking nice thoughts about the wily little bastard when he should’ve been watching his goddamn _back!_

From behind Adam heard a soft intake of breath, and then cheerfully and magnanimously, “Adam!” came right from David Sarif himself, a distraction on gilded wings. Adam turned—

 _—Boss,_ on his lips _—_

—and found himself wrapped into a tight hug from the smaller man. Adam went stiff for a second in surprise before he relaxed into the warm grip and hesitantly wrapped his own arms around his former employer. He mentally berated himself for all of a second for falling into old habits but—this was _Sarif_. This was _David_. Despite everything that had happened Adam felt—Adam closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

_“Son? I get this might seem insensitive but…is there a reason why you are currently living out of your office?”_

“David,” Adam said, under his breath, and Sarif pulled away. He gave him a wide smile, pleased, and Adam let his lips curl faintly. Despite everything, yeah, Sarif still meant quite a bit to him. Adam wasn’t going to deny that—even if he’d felt more than betrayed by the man, more than once.

“It is _good_ to see you,” Sarif said.

“Yeah,” Adam mumbled. “You too.”

Sarif’s smile grew, if that were even possible, and he grasped Adam by the augmented arm and tugged him from the kitchen. “Come, sit! Let me get you a drink. We’ve got a _lot_ to talk about.”

* * *

_2026 ; Sarif Industries_

In some part breaking things off with Megan had certainly driven Adam to—stranger—heights. He missed Kubrick and sleeping in a soft bed next to a human body; eating take out in front of the television while Megan talked science until she drove Adam spare enough to get her to make _other_ , much more fun sounds. Yet he enjoyed the freedom to roam where he pleased; sure traipsing through the ventilation shafts of Sarif Industries to sneak into various offices and nick smuggled away food _sucked_ , especially when the cafeteria was closed, but at the same time it was nice to spread his metaphorical legs around the entirety of the office.

While in SWAT Adam curtailed most of his nosey tendencies and sneak-thief attention toward food if only because there were guys on the force who would shoot first and ask questions later. Adam’s penchant for small, enclosed spaces to lurk around in also had to be locked down tight because _no one_ liked to find someone hiding in the vents above their desk in the middle of the night. He wasn’t entirely sure if Sarif knew of the whispered nickname he’d earned before he’d lost his post as DPD’s golden boy— _vent rat_ , they’d call him, because if there was a chance Adam could get into a building without increasing casualties then by damn he would—typically through the vents; sometimes through other means.

Yet, well… _stalking_ was a certain new addition to Adam’s various quirks; Adam glanced at the screen, at the intellicam footage he’d grabbed hold of, tapped into the system for a livewire feed. Megan moved around her labs with a purposeful stride to her step, completely and utterly sure of herself—and not an ounce of regret, or melancholy, at the loss of Adam at her side. Adam chewed on his lip and bit viciously into the sandwich he’d snuck out of someone’s desk—he didn’t bother to look at whose; it was ham and cheese with tomato and lettuce and utterly _divine_ —as he tried to just focus on what Megan was doing and not how she was acting.

Or not acting, as it were. Adam wondered if she even _felt_ the loss, like he did. He wondered if she felt grief-stricken that it ended—that they weren’t—or if she missed him at all. He deftly ignored the ring that burned a hole in his jacket pocket—had burned a hole in it for about a month now; weighted for the week and a half since their breakup. It had cost him a good chunk of his salary and a part of him—regretted; just, regretted.

Okay, Adam admitted with a grimace around the sandwich, maybe he should just _stop_ creepily watching his ex for all of a week. Everything was _fine_ , after all, not like she was in danger or her labs were a danger—and sure Adam felt coldly vindictive in spying on her after everything she’d—but the end to their relationship wasn’t just her. Adam flicked off the screen with a huff and leaned back into his chair. He miscalculated everything and that stung like a bitch, sure; and yeah now he was homeless to boot and everything that was wholly his was stacked away in office drawers.

God if his mom wouldn’t have a fit with that. She’d always found his habits to find food and eat whatever he could frustrating—and more than once someone in Adam’s life suggested that maybe he had some sort of thyroid condition given just how much he could eat, or even needed to eat. Of course Adam could never remember visiting a doctor as a child about the condition, and Megan offered to look him over once but—well, there was something about doctors. Adam frowned as he chewed thoughtfully. Megan didn’t often fall into the category of ‘run, run away,’ to Adam. Yet there were times where she was more Dr. Reed than Megan, and those times always made him _itch_ and think of sterile white walls and—a half-thought fever dream of a nightmare that Adam couldn’t remember.

Adam finished his sandwich and frowned as he licked his fingers clean. Okay, he was obviously fairly hungry because his thoughts were getting more circular by the minute, and this was definitely impeding into his work. Not that in the day to day Adam had a lot he needed to do as the Chief of Security for Sarif Industries. Mostly Adam spied through intellicam footage to kill time while he worked out patrols of the building security under his control, or protective details for demonstrations for the DOD contracts the scientists in the lab were working on. Other than boring work in the office the few times David Sarif decided to take a road trip of some sort Adam found himself tagged along—and those were _fun_.

 _I wonder what that hand feels like…_ Adam thought, fingers inched up to his neck before he shook himself and climbed to his feet. Yeah, no, he needed to get out of the cramped space and hunt down some more food to pilfer. The upper offices weren’t going to be viable—Adam had practically torn them apart this past week in sniffing out food and catching up on inter-email gossip from unsecured terminals. That meant he’d have to head down toward the labs and that meant— _Megan_.

In his doorway Adam paused, sucked in a breath, and then slipped out of the office. He could deal with Megan, yeah. She wanted to speak with him about something or other anyway and this would kill two birds with one stone. Of course that was as long as she didn’t talk science to him, but Adam doubted she’d do that. She _knew_ what science did to him these days—and knew how much of it was her fault. As Adam walked down the hall he shifted and silently berated himself because, dammit all, he _wasn’t_ a horny fifteen year old anymore. He really needed to quit acting like a man half his age. This was getting embarrassing.

With a huff he jogged over to the elevator and jammed the button to call it so that he could get downstairs. Labs meant, generally, not sneaking through the air vents. Some of those DOD contracts pierced through even the armor-plated walls and Adam rather wished to not get speared by something experimental. He’d hate to have to explain _that_ to his boss, and then there was the contract to think about. A part of Adam shivered at the thought of giving up his rights toward medical advocation into the hands of Sarif, in case of any accidents on the premises of Sarif Industries or while at work for the company. It hadn’t entirely sat well with him to contractually sign right of medical attorney over to _anyone_ and, actually that reminded Adam. He needed to talk to his boss about amending his contract.

 _Megan and I—_ Adam grimaced and only realized that he probably looked utterly pissed when one intern squeaked from beside him.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” she ducked her head quickly and with a sigh Adam chuckled and rubbed at his neck.

“No, no,” he waved her off— _Maria? Mary? Marissa?_ —“I’m sorry for frightening you. Margaret, right?”

Margaret flushed. “Uhm. Yes. I saw you in the hall and I—well the office thief is at it again and I just—”

 _Oh, right, stolen food._ Adam carefully wiped his fingers on the inside of his jacket as he gave Margaret a smile. “Send me an email with the details and I’ll look in to it. Guy—or gal—is rather wily.”

Margaret huffed. “Yes, well— _thankfully_ it’s just food but—but security is important! No one should undermine our office safety and—oh what am I saying. Just. Look in to it?”

“No, no, I understand,” Adam agreed. He wasn’t undermining the office safety— _technically_ —just feeding himself scraps because he was far too— _proud?_ —to seek handouts. Technically. Also his snooping worked wonders in unearthing a few bad eggs among the office rounds, but Adam kept that under a tight lid and worked to find legitimate means to bring the breaches to Sarif’s attention.

Explaining that the one tech who was selling SI secrets had been discovered because Adam got the munchies and was roaming the ceiling vents again was, well, embarrassing to say the least. Thankfully Adam found other means to rat the bastard out, netted himself a nice bonus, and still got to satisfy his urge for free food. The elevator doors dinged open and with a wave Adam stepped in and away from Margaret—and away from being reminded that _he was the office thief_. Sure, he only really grabbed at food and open office gossip, but still—the fact remained. One of these days Adam wondered if he’d be done in by spoiled, rotten food left behind.

Pritchard would be behind the poisoning; if anyone could figure out how his checks of the building _really_ worked it’d be that rat-faced bastard. Adam punched the button for the labs and slapped his keycard against the reader before he leaned back and slumped into the wall. First on his mind was _food_ , second was—well, he’d run into Megan no doubt since the labs were _her_ territory, but hopefully he could avoid a confrontation. Or a talk. Or anything else for that matter.

Adam reminded himself again as the elevator dropped ever downward— _food_ , and avoid Megan if possible. When the elevator doors dinged open Adam wanted to fight back a groan. _Avoid Megan, failure_ , he thought bitterly at the sight of her, right there, smile on her lips.

“Adam! Great, I was about to head up to talk to you. There’s some security concerns we needed to discuss,” Megan said, reached out, and grabbed him by the hand.

Adam wanted to protest, but it’d been just a _week_ —he missed her, despite everything and the fight. He missed the feel of her hand in his, of her smile, of the way she’d take control and—Adam allowed himself to be pulled along to her office and sighed. A _week_ and here he was, giving in. _Perfect fucking control there, Jensen. What would mom think?_ Granted he _had_ been watching her through the intellicam live feed, but— _still_. Adam breathed through his nose.

 _Just talk security, hunt down food, and go back to your office. Should be easy_ , Adam reminded himself. As long as Megan kept to security concerns Adam should be good.

Megan dragged him through the halls rather quickly, took a direct route to her office with only a brief wave or a nod of greeting to her coworkers. Many of them eyed Adam and smiled and Adam wondered just _what_ they were smiling about. Whatever, as soon as the door to Megan’s office slid shut, landing the both of them into the dark of her room, Adam relaxed minutely.

“Here,” Megan said sharply and shoved a cyberboost protein bar into Adam’s hands before he could say anything. Adam eyed the bar, eyed Megan, and then tore the packaging open and swallowed it down. Normally he _avoided_ cyberboost since they were patently for augs and Adam had no augs—plus they tasted like shit—but god if they didn’t actually help curb Adam’s hankering of the munchies easily enough. “I heard the office thief was going around again.”

“Did you seriously just drag me in here to _feed_ me?” Adam questioned around a mouthful of crap-tasting food— _of course_ Megan knew.

“Well, no,” Megan said, hands on her hips. “I wanted to see how you were holding up. You hadn’t been home all week.”

“We broke _up_ , Dr. Reed,” Adam reminded her tiredly as he swallowed down his bite with a grimace.

“So? The couch is still there until you have a place,” Megan pointed out. “Honestly, Adam.” She reached out to touch his arm and he jerked away. “It’s still me.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, but he refused to look at her. “Was there any real security concerns or where you just trying to corner me?”

Megan sighed. “No, we do have an upcoming showcase for our defense contractors about a few experimental aug designs,” Megan said, and she delved more into science than security and Adam wanted to— _christ_ he hated it when she did this. She _knew_ what she was doing—she _had_ to.

Megan turned as she spoke, discussing her findings in tweaking one of their existing aug designs to reduce the length of time where glial tissue buildup alongside the PEDOT-cluster and biochip became an issue, decreasing neuropozyne dependency, and increasing the effectiveness of military-grade augs for the defense contractors and DOD. Adam watched her hands gesticulate as he let her words wash over him, let the science ooze into his brain. He watched her back—and shifted to at least lessen _some_ of the strain he felt.

Nine years of knowing one another, and at least four of them where they were dating and having active sex-lives, had long ingrained science and Megan with sex since they often ran together enough— _somehow_. Even now, just a week of broken up and a week of celibacy primarily because showers were tricky in an office building where the only showers to exist were the _chemical_ ones down in the lab—Adam hadn’t forgotten _science plus Megan equals sex_. He’d always liked her voice—whether it was breath moans and soft pants, filled with sharp commands, or breathless, excited babbling over a recent find, or even frustrated because her research wasn’t going in the direction she wanted—Adam always liked her voice.

For a moment he settled, let her voice and the science wash over him—let the way her breath hitched from excitement sink into him, and then he moved. Adam moved up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, spread his fingers against her coat and stomach—down enough to grab her attention while he bent to nudge at her neck and just _breathe._ Megan let out a laugh of surprise and a breathless, “ _Adam_ ,” at the motion and— _god_ if he wasn’t tempted.

Adam tightened his grip just the slightest bit and mouthed at her neck enough to pull a moan from her, his own form tense. _Fuck he still loved her_. He still—his phone went off from within his pocket, a specific ringtone dedicated wholly and entirely to Sarif, and Adam dragged his attention away from Megan.

“Christ,” he hissed as he fished into his pocket; Megan turned around and wrapped her arms around his chest while he moved and— _oh dear god_ , Adam fumbled for his phone, eyes wide with a hitched breath because he did not expect _that_ when he right should have. For half-a-second Adam debated ignoring his employer when his phone shrieked at him again.

With a grimace Adam flicked to answer and pulled it up to his ear. “Boss?” he asked, and shivered as he felt Megan’s hands slip underneath his shirt. The trailed down his sides, followed her lead as she dropped toward her knees and— _hell, not **now**_.

_“Adam, where are you, son? I stopped by your office and didn’t see you in.”_

“Ah, I’m—just finishing up a sweep,” Adam stuttered out and fought down the urge to hiss his shock through his teeth as he glanced down to Megan, who stared back up at him coquettishly—face right _there_ and he could _feel her_ ; _jesus_.

_“Are you okay, Adam?”_

“Fine,” Adam got out. “I’m fine, boss. What did you need?”

_“Are you sure you’re not busy? If there’s something security wise you need to be focused on, son….”_

“No, no everything is good,” Adam said, and swallowed heavily when he felt Megan tug at the zipper of his pants and— _god Megan not now please, Christ, **fuck**_.

 _“Alright…”_ Sarif sounded hesitant and Adam knew he wasn’t doing a good job hiding his tenseness from his tone but shit he couldn’t help it. He’d gone and gotten himself worked up, listened to Megan as she spoke science and sex with equal measure, and now here she was on her knees with her hands—

“Did you need something, boss?” Adam repeated and tried to ignore the hands—tried to ignore—he made the mistake of closing his eyes in the next second and jumped when he felt— _god those fingers were **cold**_.

_“Yeah; I have a business trip planned in the next couple of days. Come to my office?”_

_I’d love to boss but right now I’ve got—oh good god._ Adam took in a shaky breath because now there were more than hands in a place that was far too intimate for a phone call with his boss. _Megan, you are going to get me fired._

_“Adam? Are you there?”_

Adam swallowed and said, a bit more breathlessly than he wanted, “Y-Yeah, boss, I’m still here. Sorry. Your office?”

 _“…are you sure you’re okay, Adam?_ ”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Adam tried to force out without a squeak. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded, especially when he _tried_ to pull back but—there was a desk and now he was trapped. Megan’s arms around his waist and her pretty, wicked lips pressed around—and the edge of the _desk—_

_“Look, son, if now is a bad time….”_

“No—no, sorry I thought I—sa _w so_ mething,” Adam’s free hand snapped to the edge of the desk and gripped it tight. “Just a bird. Through a window.”

 _“You really don’t sound alright, Adam,”_ Sarif said cautiously. _“Maybe you should go get checked out. Take a few days off.”_

“No, Sarif, boss seriously I’m _go_ od,” Adam shifted and grit his teeth and _fuck_ he so did not want to do this. “I’ll be—be there in _fi_ ve, swear.”

_“Adam—”_

“Your office, boss,” Adam said and quickly hung up before he actually started to just outright moan as he bowed forward, breathing harsher by the minute. _“Goddamn Christ Megan_ ,” he hissed between his teeth, opened his eyes to glare down at her and she just— _that_ was a mistake, Adam realized belatedly. He got an eyeful of her face, lips curled into a _smirk_ of all things as she looked at him, looked at his reactions—and he could see the end of himself _right there_ and that, given Sarif on the phone, Megan’s teasing, and now _this_ was enough to push him over. Adam strangled a shout of surprise. He trembled as Megan finally pulled away and stood up and just—stared at nothing between his legs while he processed what happened.

Maybe, before—before the break up a week ago and before living out of his office—Adam would’ve laughed and kissed her; he might’ve let the hand she reached out to grasp his, that tugged his fingers toward the hem of her pants and just _followed_ alongside Megan’s silent command, damn getting to Sarif’s office. Before he might’ve, but now—now Adam jerked away the minute Megan pressed his fingers against the softness of her skin.

“Sarif can wait, Adam,” Megan said as she stepped close, lips on his chin, but Adam twisted his head away and just refused to _look_ at her. He couldn’t handle this right now.

With a heavy breath Adam tucked himself back away, zipped up his pants, and retrieved his phone. He didn’t say anything—didn’t _trust himself_ to say anything—instead he just strode from her office without a further word even as she looked after him, brow furrowed and lips pressed together.

“Adam?”

Adam just shook his head and left. He couldn’t handle this right now.

* * *

 

David Sarif looked up when Adam finally brushed through the doors to his office and smiled, pleased to see one of his best investments so far. That smile quickly brushed into concern as he made his way from around his desk as Adam didn’t even acknowledge him. The former DPD SWAT golden boy kept his gaze down and away, face a pensive sort of mess that made David’s gut churn. With barely a thought David moved from his desk over to the minibar that Athene kept well stocked for him. He grabbed two glasses and poured two heavy helpings of whisky that he carried over to the small lounge set over by the window.

“Here, son,” David said, and handed one drink to Adam before he moved to take a seat and gestured for Adam to do the same. David watched as the young man blinked in surprise, shrugged, and down the glass in one go.

“You wanted to see me, boss?” Adam said, and David could pick up the way his chief of security sounded a bit hoarser than he could hear over the phone. “Something about an upcoming business trip?”

 _Distract yourself with business? Alright, then_ , David noted, but he filed his concern away while he sipped at his own drink and crossed his legs.

“Yeah,” David waved his flesh and blood hand. “There’s a biotech conference coming up in New York and Sarif Industries needs to be represented,” David said. “Normally I’d just send in some of our best techs and leave it at that, but I figured hey, I haven’t made a personal showing in about half-a-year at one of these parties. Now is as good a time as any?”

“Okay,” Adam nodded. He fished out a small pocket notebook and began to jot down notes—and oh how David admired that about Adam. He took care of things _meticulously_. “I’ll need to know the venue location, who else will be coming along on the trip, the other conference attendees from corporate partners and enemies—”

“Whoa, whoa,” David held up a hand to stop Adam in his tracks. He watched those pale eyes blink in confusion, finally cleared from whatever had plagued them a second ago and David smiled. “Adam, slow down.” When Adam slowly put down the notebook David laughed. “There you go, son. There’s no hurry, it’s not for a few more days yet.”

“That’s hardly any time to put together proper threat-assessment-and-response,” Adam said dryly. “Do you even know where we’ll be staying?”

“I have a penthouse in the area,” David said wryly. “I figured we’d all stay there.”

“Right. And the security on the penthouse?”

“As secure as ever, Adam, honestly.”

Adam rolled his eyes and David watched him relax back with a tired sigh. “Sorry, boss, it’s just—half-a-year? That would be around the time you hired me—and I remember when I got hired pretty damn well.” He’d been in a shit place before he got pulled into Sarif Industries.

“Your point, Adam?” David said and took another sip of his glass.

“My point is publicly you haven’t fully attended a biotech conference since the London bombing incident,” Adam said bluntly, and David winced. “That was 2024, boss.” Well David certainly hadn’t anticipated getting called on his bullshit there, but damn did Adam actually know his history. “That was more than half-a-year ago. We’re actually coming up toward two years—half-a-year ago is when you pulled out of the public spotlight because of the issues with your arm in the wake of the bombing, the rising tensions with the augmented, and the subsequent riots in 2025. You finally got the replacement installed right after I was hired on, and have begun making reappearances on the public circuit with me as your bodyguard.”

“Damn, Adam, I didn’t think you knew all of that,” David mumbled tiredly.

“You pay me to know all of this,” Adam pointed out dryly. “Come on, boss. Don’t try and trick me here. What is really going on?”

David sighed tiredly. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “I’ve been avoiding the biotech conferences ever since the bombing, and well—you hit the nail on the head.”

“So, you do want me to run security, threat-assessment-and-response, and to ensure that not only are our secrets protected, but every tech that will be following you to the conference—where, exactly?”

“New York,” David relented. “The conference is in New York. I don’t expect trouble as its New York—augmented and biotech companies tend to be treated a bit more sweetly in New York and you know how paranoid this country is against terrorist threats.”

“Less likely for a massive incident from anything not home-grown, sure,” Adam agreed. “That still doesn’t rule out the chances of negative reactions given the rise of concern with the augmented and the Humanity Front.”

“Goddamn _Taggert_ ,” David grumbled and swallowed down the last of his glass. “Alright, Adam, hit me with what you need to know.”

“How soon do you intend to arrive in New York?” Adam questioned.

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything to the media outlets if that’s what you mean,” David responded, but when Adam raised an eyebrow he sighed. “Day after tomorrow. I planned a press release about my attendance to be sent out day before the conference itself.”

“Alright, then I’ll need a list of the prospective VIP’s,” Adam said briskly as he began to make a few quick notes. “I’ll also need to know who you have slated to attend on our end that will have already been announced, and what you plan to showcase.”

David nodded. “I’ll have Athene draw up a list for you,” he agreed as he got to his feet. He grabbed Adam’s glass and headed back to the minibar to fill both his and Adam’s drinks back up before he returned to the couch. “Will you be alright handling all this from New York?” David asked as he sat the drink down while Adam scribbled intently in his notebook.

“Hm?” Adam grabbed the glass and downed it again without another thought.

“New York, Adam,” David prodded. “You are coming with me tomorrow.” Adam looked up.

“As long as I have a good enough and secure enough connection to work with, and Pritchard doesn’t throw a fucking hissy-fit, yeah should be fine,” Adam shrugged.

David sighed tiredly. “Honestly, Adam. You need to quit antagonizing Frank….”

“As soon as he stops being an ass,” Adam replied blandly and David massaged his head with his augmented arm exasperatedly.

“Boys,” he grumbled to himself and took a swallow of his own whisky. “Alright. Give Athene a list of everything you need to know; I’ll make sure she get’s it to you before tomorrow. Malik will be taking us out at eight AM sharp, so have your bags packed.”

“How long do you expect we’ll stay, boss?” Adam asked.

“A week. Maybe two,” David said dismissively. “I’ll send Frank a notice, too, to take a look into the cyber security since you brought him up.” David watched how Adam grimaced, but nodded his head in acceptance.

“Four of my security team will travel with the techs you are sending to the conference,” Adam said definitively. “That is—you don’t plan on taking them with us in Malik’s bird, right?”

David laughed and shook his head. “Hell no. That’s a privilege none of those kids have earned yet. No, they’ll met us closer to the conference.”

“Any of the science team going?” Adam asked.

“No, no they have plenty of work here,” David shook his head. “Besides we won’t be showcasing any DOD tech. This is purely civilian in nature.”

“Good to know,” Adam mumbled, then snapped his notebook closed and stuffed it and the pen into his jacket. “I’ll go leave that message with Athene then. Anything else while I’m here, boss?”

David eyed Adam and shifted so that his other leg crossed over the first instead. At least Adam looked less pensive and caught up in whatever mess had been tearing apart in his mind now, David mused. He’d gotten a much needed point of focus, and given David some time to puzzle out just why his chief of security seemed to be in a right state. Unwashed, David noted distastefully, and a little thin. What had Adam been doing—living out of his office?

“No, not for the moment,” David said and waved a dismissive hand. Adam nodded, ducked his head, and left the office and David to his worried contemplation. David sipped at his glass and contemplated the conversation and the worries that it, and Adam’s demeanor, raised. Originally he’d intended to just give Adam the notice in person—no actual attendance on David’s end.

Then David had seen the sorry state of the man’s office—food wrappers, a few pieces of clothing haphazardly tossed around his desk, and more energy drinks than David knew the names of—and then of course that phone call. Adam hadn’t sounded _right_ on it, and in person he looked even _worse_. David frowned—making up his own decision to attend the conference was a spur of the moment choice to break Adam out of whatever funk and taken control and now—well, now he was nothing if not committed. David flexed his augmented arm and eyed the intricate gold filigree.

Committed; yeah, David finished off his drink. He could do this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how this story will shape up, but I will say that while I intended to include Adam’s “tendency” toward vents and being the office thief as a sort of joke nod toward how you could break in everywhere and take people’s shit, I didn’t intend for things to go that off the rails—but I finally finished Mankind Divided, and I’ve finally finished up System Rift and Desperate Measures—although I have to redo System Rift to get the last few achievements I somehow missed—how the fuck did I kill someone?! Because I swear all I did was tranq and knock people out. I’m rather pacifist when it comes to this game (aside from the end of the main story; I got pissed at that point and said fuck it, you all die, have a nice shotgun round to the face assholes) I’m obviously missing something there, but whatever.
> 
> I’m currently working through A Criminal Past and trying to figure out my finances so I can get a copy of Human Revolution to play with most likely on my PS3, and god damn if I’m not really interested in just how Adam’s augs all work now with his system. I’ve been doing research into what just got fucked up and how and where and it’s been a trip, let me tell you.
> 
> I’m not like a doctor or anything, but I do have some medical training since I’m currently working toward a CVT so when I read “entire chest cavity” I went oh fucking shit because that’s—that’s pretty fucking serious. Also the image of when Adam got tossed through the wall and computer screen and into whatever device that was? Jesus. That boy was practically eviscerated.
> 
> You could see his fucking intestines. Thank you Eidos.
> 
> Anyway, yeah. So this chapter upped my rating of the story, now there’s wonderful fucking dubcon—thank you horny children, just what I wanted to deal with—and Adam is all sorts twisted up in his own head even before the augs. SO that’s fun—but I mean, thinking about it…yeah. Anyway we’re dipping into the past here because I just…felt the need to get some of this out since it started bouncing around in my head. So like I said—I dunno how this will shape up. I might bounce back and forth between present and past for a while, who knows?
> 
> Mankind Divided gave me way too many conspiracy theories and painful, plot point worries anyway. Back to Black Light and continuing with A Criminal Past in the meanwhile.
> 
> Anyone else physically flinch whenever that damn TYM chip kicks in during A Criminal Past?


End file.
